Little Talks
by Iweavewords
Summary: Jin travels with an unlikely adventurer and they speak.
1. First conversation, with a murderer

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Samurai Champloo. No financial gain is made from this. This is for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

I remember it perfectly, like a picture engrained in the deepest of my being, of my soul, as a reminder, a punishment. The contorted expression in the face I had learned to love and that now I despise. The speed at which the blood tampered with his perfect fitting suit, its color darkened by the dim light in the room, only bathed by the silver glimmer of the moon. The soft whisper that escaped between his lips when he drew his last breath, the coldness it drove into my chest, the trembling of my hands...

_"Why did you kill him? You said you loved him."_

_"Yes, I guess I should start this story by the beginning."_

We had arrived at Bencoolen barely a month ago after a long trip that had almost taken Sophia from us.

_"Who is Sophia?"_

_"She is Lawrence's daughter from his previous marriage. His wife had died from typhoid fever. She was thirteen or fourteen when we moved to the East."_

_"Ah," he nodded in understanding._

So we arrived in a rainy day in this inhospitable land. Of course, Lawrence was by then well-travelled, but for me it was as scary as it was exciting to step in these savage places. Deep down, I now think part of me felt enamored of Lawrence because he was my gateway to this, to the thrill of the adventure of discovering new lands. Although I may be reading too much into it. I guess at that time I had not the confidence that I found later, the one needed to survive in this cruel world. But somehow I cannot remember now the fear I am sure I felt, an innocent sixteen year old unaware of the real dangers around her.

_"What is that place?"_

_"Excuse me?"_

_"Is that an island?"_

_"Oh, it is not Japan. Don't get ahead of the story, please."_

The natives did not even have a name for their country, but the city we named it Bencoolen, a small village part of the South Sumatera Province. We arrived as part of the East Indian Company convoy to this village of little trading interest, acting more like a garrison in the commercial war with the Dutch.

_"A vast sea separates it from here," I explained, "but if sometime we get a charting map I can show you where it is."_

Lawrence took soon on his functions as Governor and we moved to the house that came with the position. It did not hold the luxury of other manors, but it was better off than the buildings around us. I started to take in the customs of the locals, their colorful and flimsy dresses - they called them sarongs -, the foreign taste of their food, their complicated language... Our life was perfect, I was ecstatic. It was as if a veil I had carried was lifted and now the world around me was brighter and becoming. It was all a dream until that nightmarish night.

Lawrence had been out. It was not unusual. He had important duties as Governor and sometimes he would meet with other important men until late. I had grown used to it, so I just went to sleep to an empty bed. He would join in at some point during the night, his warm embrace reassuring me that he had come back safe. But what woke me up that dreadful night, were muffled screams and frantic footsteps. A knot settled in my throat and cut my respiration. What could I do? I was only a scared sixteen year old girl. Did the service house have not heard the intruder? I left the room without taking the gun that I knew my husband kept in his desk's first drawer, but as you will understand, logic avoided me that night.

I followed the horrific sounds, realizing with terror that they were coming from Sophia's room.

_I saw my conversational partner's tighten his grip in his katana and I almost smiled. _

I opened the door without a second thought. How I wish I would have just found the band of bandits I expected! I would have gladly accepted my death instead of what I saw. Thankfully my mind has discarded this image for I feel like vomiting just at its evocation.

_"What it was?" he pressured me._

_"My love, my husband, the only person I had left in this forsaken land, was atop his own daughter, his flesh, his hand over her mouth..." This time it was me that tightened my fists until the nails drew blood from my palms._

_"I understand," he said in a deep tone. I sighed._

My feet carried me back to our room. I don't know why. I think I was barefoot. Yes, I am pretty sure... Not that it matters. He ran after me, probably his second biggest mistake that night. My hands did not tremble anymore, I think, when I reached for his pistol in the drawer. Papers flew out with it. He shouted 'I can explain you. Listen-' but he never did as the gun went off, sending his poor excuses with him to the grave.

The loud bang of the shot must have woken the servant house and the first sounds of steps in the manor sent me into motion. Tears clouded my vision as I gathered random items with no clear objective. In my numbness I think I understood it had been a fatal shot to us both. The door to our room opened - for a second I wondered who had closed it in the first place. It was one of the natives working in the service of the house, but I barely glimpsed his or her face. I shot him too.

_"Why?"_

_"I don't know... I was not myself anymore. Any rationale in me was gone and I just acted out in instinct. I know it makes no sense-"_

_"It does," he interrupted me. I smiled sadly. "Continue."_

I took that poor soul with me in my frenzied escape. It downed on me that other servants were in the house, looking for the tumultuous incident, for the bandit or murderer. I knew too then that if they found me I would be judged as one. And for some reason, despite having all lost, I did not want to die.

_"I don't want to die," I corrected myself._

I knew little about how this world works - that, I would find out the hard way later, - but I knew as long as I stayed in Bencoolen I would be in danger. How naive of me to think that a woman alone would be safe anywhere else. I donned some of his clothes. They were warmer in the humid night and sweat dampened my skin, but the dark colors allowed me to blend in easier and move faster than any of my dresses. I also kept the gun in my hand, filled my pockets with gold and bullets. The screams in the house reached my ears as I jumped out of the windowed balcony. I had never been very sportive and my shoulder soared in pain as it touched the ground. I ran in the darkness, seeing the events unfold as nothing more than a spectator. I saw the order forces heading towards the manor, some of the members of my house service shouting at them, encouraging their violence. I kept on running towards the port.

The harbor stunk of alcohol and sin, such a different life from the one I was leaving behind. Word also was amongst it of the murder of the Governor. Gossip ran faster than me, it seemed. It also helped me to sneak inside a ship, added that my petite size was an advantage. Thus I became a stowaway in a random vessel. It was not until later that I would discover the magnificence of the artwork that the 'Clover' was. A mass of black wood in which I surged the seas for a month.

_"Had I chosen another vessel, we would not be having this conversation. But I had little idea where this ship was taking me. Had I known, I would have probably changed route," I added._

I saw many men die aboard the'Clover'. Diseased they would wander until they finally fell to Death's grip. I even helped sometimes throw the bodies out to the hungry sea. Nobody wondered much about my presence in the 'Clover'. After a sleepless night bundled in the stores, the vessel was brought to life by the twenty-something men working around its empty core and we sailed.


	2. First conversation, with a stowaway

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Samurai Champloo. No financial gain is made from this. This is for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

I hid my presence until we were far away in the open seas and the captain sent his prayers. How long that was, I could not tell. I had managed to fit my tired body amongst the deepest barrels of the cargo, where I cried and slept with unseen vermin crawling around me as only company. I heard the ruckus voices of the men living above, by then in charge of my fate, their voices speaking in tongues I could not understand. Those same barrels that hid me, they fed me.

I wish I knew how much time passed before the captain found me. With no light to count my days, it felt like being buried before death. When he shone his lamp at my face, I was blinded. And weak, very weak. So much that when he grabbed me by my arm to lift me up, I felt like my arm would go out of its socket.

He spoke in that devilish language I had grown used to hear from the upper decks. He read my confusion.

"So this is the ghost my men have been whining about," he snickered in a heavily accented English. "More like a weeping cockroach." My pupils adjusted and saw a faint image of him. Big, muscular, imposing, with a thick dark beard and eyes a blue so clear it looked like they were white. "Do you understand me, boy?" I nodded. "Why are you in my ship then?"

"I am sorry," I mumbled.

"Do not be, for my men have been dying since we departed and your hands will be useful to get us to our next port. You have two hands, do you?" I nodded again. I looked down at them, they were bony and pale, still lady's hand by then. "Then you will scrub and cook," he added, leading me up.

A dance of rugged faces unfolded before my eyes as he dragged me by the arm to the surface and fear settled in my heart. A young woman like me, surrounded by these ruthless men, with no other escape than death by the sea... We stopped in what served as a kitchen and he thrust a knife in my hand and pointed at a mountain of potatoes.

I called back at him when I saw him turn around to leave. "Wait." He stopped. "You-you are not going to... I, uhm..."

He glared at me. "Half of my crew has perished since we left Sumatera. I would have treated you otherwise, but right now we need as many people as we can to survive whatever trial the sea throws at us. If you want I will flog you once we dock."

"No, please," I begged. "I will work," I said, taking the first of many potatoes.

"Good decision."

Captain Pieter van Diemen, as I would learn later his name was, wished to see back his natal Nijmegen city, where he had left wife and two daughters. At his almost fifty years, he hoped he could finish - or at least pause - his work for the Dutch East India Company after this long trip. He would not let a stupid cholera outbreak deprive him of seeing his family again. So he allowed me to serve him in his vessel. A decision I understood he would not regret, as more men fell to the illness and less of us were left to work. Communication was hard, since these men were Dutch and almost none spoke English. So instead, I started to pick up on some of their words, the most basics to survive around them. My existence was lonely and I still carried the fresh wounds of what had transpired in Becoolen.

"If you keep on crying like a girl, these sailors will soon use you as one," a voice spoke in perfect English next to my sleeping place - no more than a drape hung in a hammock style.

I quickly wiped the tears off my swollen eyes. When I was not working, images of my sin haunted my idle mind.

"Why are you here, lass?" he asked me next. My blood ran cold; I had been posing as a boy since the beginning of this cursed trip.

"How did you know?" I muttered, looking down at myself. The baggy clothes that hid the wraps around my chest. I have a humble bosom, so my woman shapes are not that hard to hide.

_"I know," he said and I looked pointedly at him. Well, maybe he said it to justify that he too have been fooled. _

"I have been observing you. There is not much to do in this ship except to rot away. Sadly, you are the most interesting thing here right now," he answered. Then he leaned forward, wiped his hand in his trousers and offered it to me. In the absent light of the down deck, he looked in his forties, although later I learnt he was thirty-four. He kept his blonde hair over his shoulders in a fashion not unlike mine. And he always smirked at life. "John Saris."

I shook his hand. "Diana..." No, better to omit my deceased husband's last name.

"You need a new name if you wish to get around, Diana. How about... Henry?" I nodded in approval. "Henry Burger. Sounds good?"

I offered him my hand again. "Nice to meet you, John. My name is Henry Burger."

He laughed. "You still sound like a lady, Henry. Try to speak less loud, deeper... Also, do not enunciate all the words so clearly, you are a sailor now, no need for it."

I chuckled softly, trying to not wake up the rest of the crew. But then, I grew somber. "Are you going to keep my secret, please?"

"What, that you are a woman?" I shushed him, but nodded. "Only if you explain me why an English-girl is cross-dressing in a Dutch East India Company vessel."

"I am a criminal," I ended up admitting after a long pause.

He raised an eyebrow. "You don't look like one. What did you do?"

I took a deep breath. "A murder," I confessed.

He whistled and I wondered how the men around us were not already complaining. "That's a surprise. I was betting for 'running away from marriage' or 'adultery'. Maybe even 'adultery with some Eastern native'. That would have been quite the story, uh?"

"Will you keep my secret?"

He made a gesture to seal his lips. "I give you my word, Henry."

We fell into silence, each to his musings, until I spoke again. "You are an Englishman, aren't you?"

He smiled staring at the ceiling. "Yes, sir."

"Are you working for the Dutch?" I asked. With the language barrier I could not ask so many questions that plagued my mind about the workings of this new society that welcomed me as Henry Burger.

"Not really. I just work around the ship to get passage. There are many places in the East where Englishmen cannot set foot. I want to do so," he explained.

"You want to go where Englishmen cannot..." I repeated. "For what?"

"Talkative much, uh?" he laughed. "You really are a girl, Henry. I want to discover things, to share them with my countrymen."

"You want to be a pioneer?"

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. There was a certain charisma to him, in his nonchalance. "More like an adventurer."

John Saris would become my crutch during my time in the Clover. He also taught me some of the tools that would keep me alive during this journey that brought us together. He educated me in how to act like a man, although as he would often say, I could do no better than an effeminate lad. When he was not teasing my manners, he would be teaching me card games and sometimes, some Dutch sailors would join in, betting their rations, their little gold or their precious drinks. But sometimes too he would ignore me, too immersed in the leather book in which he scribbled with a passion that made him look possessed by the devil.

"What do you write?" I asked him one day. The merciful weather gifted us clear skies and a shy Sun that warmed our skin, so we had gone like most to the deck to enjoy it while it lasted.

He smirked. "Everything."

I tried to peak at it, but he closed the book. "Is it a diary?"

"Kind of. I don't write uninteresting things, like what I ate or what clothes I wore, like you ladies do." He laughed weakly. Lately he had been looking lethargic and his face had taken on a pale bluish color that did not suit his usually cheerful mood.

"Did you write about me?" I asked, pointing a finger at myself.

He just smirked.

By the time we arrived to Fort Zeelandia-

_"You are again speaking of places I don't know," he complained. _

_"It is another island, Formosa. Just in front of the Chinese coast."_

_"I see."_

By the time we arrived there, John could no longer walk. The sickness had turned him into a ghost of himself. It pained my heart to depart from him, but if we did not leave him behind he would not survive the rest of the voyage. For Fort Zeelandia was just a layover before our final destination.

"Henry," he grabbed my hand from his make-shift bed in the apothecary house in the downtown. "Please, take this with you." He reached into his jacket, his hands wrinkled of dehydration. He gave me his journal. "Take it back to England and share with my countrymen my adventure."

_"Are you going to cry?" He interrupted me. I ignored him and continued my retelling. _

I took the leather book, put it aside, and brushed the stray locks from his feverish forehead. "You will get better, John. I will stay here until you do and then we can continue your adventures together."

He smirked and I left the little room with the leather book pressed to my chest.

_"Is that the same book you carry around?"_

_I nodded. _

_"Did he die then?"_

_"I don't know."_

I walked back inside the Fort, as I felt I owed Captain van Diemen an explanation of why I would not be sailing back with him and thinking he might want to be aware of John's condition. But as I entered the administration office, I could see the Captain's ire as he screamed at a hunched man. They spoke Dutch, so I could not understand much of what had them both red in anger. The other man waved a handful of papers in my Captain's face and I feared the bigger man would strike him.

"If this keeps on, we won't sail until tomorrow," I heard a man speaking behind me.

He did not address me, but his companion, who answered, "Anyways, all this trouble for nothing. They won't probably find her here if she was in Bencoolen. A woman traveling alone, could you imagine?"

"Yes, I guess this is only to save face."

Mustering all my courage, and trying to follow John's advices on how to talk like a lad, I asked, "What is the problem here?"

Now that I turned, I could see the two English sailors, dark skin showing their trade. "Looks like some Governor was murdered in Bencoolen and now everybody is losing their shit over it."

I nodded. "Do they even know who they are looking for?"

They laughed. "They do. He was killed by his own wife. His daughter saw it all. Look!"

One of them pointed at a near wall. In a flimsy paper, a poorly drawn image of a young woman was followed by bold letters spelling 'WANTED'.

_I leafed through the leather journal until I found the copy of the poster I had stolen that day in Fort Zeelandia. He took it with clear interest, his fingers tracing letters that he probably did not understand, those sentences that exposed my crime. _

_"I had become a wanted woman."_


	3. First conversation, with a wanted woman

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Samurai Champloo. No financial gain is made from this. This is for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

Captain van Diemen would have hit the administrator gladly. All ships were being meticulously examined, looking for the Governor's murderer. Authorities had the certainty she had escaped by sea after searching Sumatera island. The testimony of Sophia Irving was crucial to the investigation, framing none other than her step-mother.

_He frowned. "Why did she do that? You saved her, no?" _

_I shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I will never know. Maybe one day, when I have lived enough, I will return to her and ask for an explanation before to die."_

Not only vessels were being put on hold until inspection, but also passenger lists were being checked with an unlikely rigour. I knew I was at a crossroads. I went back to the harbour, but the security around the vessels made it impossible to board again one unnoticed. I was considering my choices, the chances of survival if I stayed in this island, when a strong hand grabbed me by the collar. I turned my head to come eye to eye with a soldier reeking of alcohol. Maybe the liquor gave him a providential clarity to see through my disguise.

"What are you doing here, lad?" he asked me.

"I was just..."

"He looks like a thief to me," a second soldier said to my right.

"Trying to sneak into a ship, boy?" the first one asked, his hand still pulling at my loose shirt.

"No, sir," I answered. "I was just looking for my Captain."

"Ah, yes, and who that would be?" They laughed, convinced by my nervousness in my guilt.

"Captain van Diemen!" I almost screamed.

"I am feeling generous, boy. I will accompany you to your captain. What do you say, George?" The other man just chuckled idiotically in response.

They ignored my protests as they dragged me towards the administration office. I kicked and trashed in the air like a fish out of the water. We crossed the doors of the building and I felt all eyes on us. I physically winced when the soldier yelled "Does this rat belong to any of you?"

I saw the smiles in the faces of the men, heard them laugh at my ridicule. My eyes though stayed on Captain van Diemen, who leaned over a paper, wearing a pair of glasses I had never seen on him. My eyes begged him for a mercy I did not deserve. I knew he had no more use on me; new sailors would be hired in Fort Zeelandia. There was no more reason to overlook that I had boarded his ship illegally. He was a smart man, for sure he had guessed by now my real identity; he would surely be better off if he handed me over to the authorities. If he ever realised who I really was, I never knew.

I held my breath as he rose from his chair.

"He is one of mine," he finally said and I felt tears coming to my eyes, so I hung my head low. The hands that now held me by the arms did not let go though.

"Show me," the soldier said, dragging me with him to where my captain was. The paper between his hands was a passenger list and the soldier slammed his fist over it. Captain van Diemen glared at him, the same cold eyes that kept his crew obedient and well-behaved. "Well, old man, where in this list is this scoundrel? And why was he loitering around the harbour?"

Captain van Diemen looked at the list, then back at me with sorry eyes. We both knew my name was not there. I had not even given him a name.

I saw his finger go down the names and stop suddenly around the end of the list. "Here. John Salis. That's his name."

My eyes widened. I was surprised at the name choice; did the captain know that John would not be sailing with us? But specially, I gasped at this man, who knew nothing of me, and was willing to put his life on the line for a complete stranger.

"Show me," the soldier grunted, letting go of my sore arm.

"What?" I asked dumbfounded.

"Proof me you are John Salis, boy. Do you have something to show for it? A letter?"

I rummaged through my tattered jacket and pulled the leather book. I offered it to the soldier with apprehension. "My journal."

He leafed through it quickly, then threw it back to me. With a sign of his head, he gestured to his companion and they both left. I sighed. The severe gaze of my captain made me gulp and I mouthed a 'sorry'. He shook his head in derision.

The hunched man came back and declared "You and your men can go, van Diemen," in a Dutch so clear I could understand.

The Captain just nodded and muttered "Let's go," at me.

I grabbed his hand to stop him, but moved off my hands when I noticed my gesture. "I need to do something first." I needed to say goodbye to John, to explain him that I would be leaving, that I was in danger if I stayed with him here.

"We are leaving port tomorrow morning. We need to prepare the rest of our journey," he just answered me and kept on walking.

I followed him, although what was a light step for him, it meant almost running for me. "It will be just ten minutes. I need to go downtown."

"If you go, don't come back. I have risked enough for you. To repay your service. We are now at peace," he said before to start to shout orders at his men in Dutch.

I swallowed my sorrow and started to help carry heavy crates to the Clover - while other men carried two or three at a time, I struggled with one. It was only when the night had fallen and we all gathered back in the entrails of the vessel, when I had made sure that all other crewmen were deep in their sleep, only then I cried, as I opened the journal and read. I cried for John, for him, for his broken dreams, and I cried for myself, selfishly.

_"Did you love that man?" he suddenly asked me. _

_"Who?"_

_"John."_

_I pondered. It was hard to remember what I felt such a long time ago, during such a turbulent period of my life. "I do not really know," I confessed. "I don't think it was love. I don't think I have ever felt love yet, so I cannot tell. John was... an anchor. He helped me when I had all lost asking nothing in return. He was an amazing person and I looked up to him for that. He had the strength I lacked. And I am not speaking about physical strength... Could have I love him in time? Probably yes." I smiled sadly. "Guess we will never know."_

I sank my grief in the daily work around the ship. Interaction was still hard with the other sailors and a lot of new faces that I did not trust had joined us for this second period of voyage. My human interactions were scarce and I spent a lot of sleepless nights just reading John's words in his journal. I still played cards occasionally. Like the first time I boarded the 'Clover' I was unaware of our route. I learned also some basic sailing mechanisms.

We had spent a week at the sea more or less when we saw the skies turn red as an augury of what was to happen. The Sun was dutifully retiring to give place to the night when the First Mate shouted "Piraat!"

We all left our chores to gaze over the board. I felt fear as I saw the silhouettes of the pirates' ships appearing in the horizon, in front of us, but also behind us. They were everywhere. Their sails reminded me the wings of a dragon. I saw with horror all men ran around panicked, yelling at each other words I could not understand. Even the captain looked surprisingly reserved. Were we not supposed to prepare to fight? Cowardly, I took refuge below decks, where already several men trembled. I crawled back to my place in between barrels and I prayed to a God I had long time neglected. I cried with each time I felt the vessel shake as if something rammed into it. I hugged my legs and buried my head between my knees, wishing it all to end. Once more, I cannot tell how much time I spent like that, but in a sense of deja vu, somebody grabbed me by the arm and lifted me as a lantern was shone in my face.

"There you are, boy," van Diemen said. "Come. And stop crying."

In a daze, I was dragged around until I stepped in a room I had never seen before. The captain's quarters. It was not lavish as I expected. The bed and desk took almost all the space of the room. The person sitting behind the desk probably carried more gold than what there was in the cabin. With a hand gesture, my captain was escorted away by two minions.

"Kneel," a man commanded me. I glanced at him; it was not the person sitting, but he stood next to the desk. Unlike every other pirate, he was European. I dropped to one knee. "What is your name, lad?"

"Henry Burger, sir."

"Very well. You have been chosen as representative of this vessel," he announced.

I gawked at him. "Wh-What?"

The man ignored me. "I will act as translator."

"Why me?" I babbled.

"You are the only English-speaker in this ship," he explained.

"What about the captain?"

"He is Dutch," he said with distaste. I understood then that I was not in a situation to demand favours and the way the person that sat sized me up was making me extremely nervous. Suddenly, he turned to whisper at the Englishman's ear. "Ching Shih wants you to know that as we speak her men are emptying your vessel of any possession we might consider worth stealing and there is nothing you can do about that." I did not even know what these precious possessions could be, but in my current situation I had little care for the material. "Once they are finished, she will decide if we sink your ship or not."

I shivered at his words. I fell fully to my knees, my hands on the floor. "Please, do not kill us all."

I saw in dismay the woman laugh, her jewellery jingling with the movement. It was a weird contrast, the finery of her adornments and the slovenly clothes. She was androgynous in her appearance and manners. Her slanted eyes studied me. Then she spoke for a long time in what now I assume to be Chinese.

I waited for the translation. "She says that she wants to have dinner with you and hear your story."

"My story?" I asked as I saw the pirate woman look at me expectantly.

The Englishman nodded. "Why a woman is posing for a man and if it is really you that killed a Governor?" I gulped. She contemplated me satisfied. The Englishman frowned, deciding to speak for himself. "You know that Ching Shih's code has special rules for females... If you discover yourself as one, she will free you in the next port," he explained, gentleness in his voice.

I considered his words. Would she? She knew I had a bounty on my head. Could I trust a criminal, a pirate?

"Well?" the translator urged me.

I rose to my feet with effort. Part of me did not want to face what could happen next.

_"Shall we go to sleep? It is getting late..." I said. _

_He raised a hand. "No, please. Tell me what happened next."_

_I smiled at his impatience. _

I pulled at the cloth that served as bandana over my head and let my hair fall down. With heavy steps, I took a wooden chair, placed it in front of the desk and sat. "I am not Henry Burger neither John Salis. I will tell you my story if you promise me you will let us live. All of us. All the crew of the 'Clover'. You may take as many objects as you want, but do not hurt us."

Captain Ching Shih beamed. She spoke again and I could hear the excitement in her croaked voice.

"You have her word. She will spare your lives and do not harm to you or your boat if your story is good enough," he translated.

I frowned. "What do you mean 'good enough'?"

The pirate lass leaned forward and smirked. She spoke in broken English, "Entertain me."

The desk became a lush dinner table by the hand of Ching Shih's men. The Englishman poured us red wine and we were served some dish with rice and meat, all dressed in an exquisite sauce. My appetite evaded me, but I tried the food, scared to disrespect them.

"Well?" the Englishman pressured me.

I downed my glass of wine and reached for the bottle to pour me a second one. Ching Shih followed my movements with eagerness. She also seemed uninterested by the feast before us. I took a deep breath and in the course of the bottle of wine, I told them my story as I have told you. I had to pause from time to time to let the Englishman translate my words, but I must admit Ching Shih was a dedicated listener, choosing the right expressions over my tale, surprise, sadness, anger...

By the time I was finished, drained of my secrets, the Sun washed over the 'Clover' and the junk ships of the pirates. Be it because of tiredness or alcohol, I felt drowsy.

Ching Shih rose from her chair, scrapping the wooden floor. "Very well," she said in English before to swap into Chinese.

"As a woman, you are protected by my law and no harm will come onto you. You are free to come with us and we will let you go at our next stop," the man translated.

_"I am tired, can we finish this tomorrow?" I complained, yawning. _

_He raised an eyebrow. "You are being annoying on purpose." I smirked. "Just tell me the end."_

"Your story has entertained me well. For that, let it be known that a woman captured the 'Clover' and a woman saved it."

Fast as they came, the Red Flag Fleet left. We sailed forward our storage empty, with barely enough food to survive the rest of the journey. Before she left, Ching Shih gave me advice which I try to live by.

_"What did she say?"_

_"I won't tell you."_

_"Oh."_

Six days later, hunger eating us away, a clear cloudless day, we touched port in Japan.


	4. First conversation, with a geisha

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Samurai Champloo. No financial gain is made from this. This is for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

_"So what happens next?"_

_I blinked. "What?"_

_"Your story," he said. _

_"Oh." The forest we were crossing was quiet, barely disturbed by the chirping of early birds, so we spoke almost in whispers. "You are really interested?"_

_He looked away, almost embarrassed. "Who starts to tell a story to stop at the middle?"_

_I smiled. _

We arrived in Dejima exhausted and low on morale. I did know nothing of this country, but everybody made it clear to me: foreigners could not step out of this artificial island in the bay of Nagasaki. Although he never admitted it out loud, Captain van Diemen was grateful for whatever happened with the pirates and he proposed me passage in his vessel in its way back to Europe, once it had been loaded with silk and cotton. I agreed happily. Maybe after this crazed adventure I would be able to see again my dear land, and my mother and father and brother. Little did I know that this would be the last I know of Pieter van Diemen.

We arrived around lunch time and had to suffer through controls. Japanese, in the middle of their Sakoku policy, forbid the entry in the island of women and guns, and I was guilty to both. So, in my disguise, I was allowed to follow my crew, but the Dutch administration confiscated my weapon. I felt almost relieved to lose it.

We would stay in Dejima for a few days to revitalize and load the ship. I was given free reign over my free time after we all shared a copious lunch together. Dejima was no more than a few houses put together, a weird mix of the Asian style and the Occidental customs. People played badminton on the streets, billiards inside. I wandered the streets, feeling the conviviality in the merchants. I put some of the gold in my pockets to use and bought food and random items.

_"I bought those glasses you are wearing on a whim," I added. _

_He pushed them up his nose with a finger. "I see."_

By the time the Sun was setting down I was tired, cold and hungry, so I looked for the most crowded building, assuming it to be a hotel. Inside, a loud group of men drank and played. I ordered food and ate in silence when one of the sailors that had shared journey with me invited me to their game of cards. Feeling a bit out of place on my own in this tavern reeking hospitability, I accepted the offer.

_"I almost lost those glasses on a bet too," I laughed. _

Our game was abruptly interrupted by the patrons standing up and gathering outside the local. My gaming partners and I followed the ruckus, but my limited size in regard to the towering heights of the Dutchmen did not allow me to see what caught everybody's attention. They spoke hurriedly in Dutch, so I did not garner any information from eavesdropping. I turned towards the sailor that had invited me - Jan I think was his name - and shrugged and repeated 'wat?' 'wat?'. He spoke to me in Dutch, growing in frustration, trying to make me understand, to no avail. A man to our left piped in, his English's skills superior to those of Jan, "Some captain is taken by authorities. He smuggled criminal. They found gun of killer, one of crew."

The beating of my heart in my ears muffled the sound of the protests of the men I pushed as I made my way to the front of the crowd. My eyes widened in despair and I gasped as I saw my dear captain, cuffed, being led to who knew what demise. I wanted to run forward, to free him from his captors, but those men were surely looking for me too. It would have probably been best if I had done so, for then Pieter van Diemen could have pleaded innocent. Instead, I made him pay for my mistakes.

_I did not realize I had stopped walking until my travel companion raised an eyebrow and looked at me expectantly. I resumed my trek by his side. _

Instead, I turned to the man next to me and asked, "Do they have the murderer?"

He glared at me, bothered by my familiarity or that I spoke to him in English, but answered me in the same language, "No, they are looking for him. I just hope this is not going to ruin the coming of the oranda-yuki." He elbowed his friend and laughed.

I did not understand. "The 'orada-yuti'?"

He scoffed, irritated. "The Maruyama girls. I ordered one for tonight."

"A what?"

"A geisha." He saw my confusion. "A prostitute... a harlot. What are you? Retarded?"

_"It must have been a__yūjo, not a geisha," he corrected me. _

_"Ok, but this is unimportant to our story."_

"There are prostitutes here? I thought no woman could step on Dejima."

"They don't live here. They come to spent the night and leave in the morning."

I weighted his words. He was almost leaving when I intercepted him. "Where can I order one of these girls?"

He smirked perversely. "It is too late for tonight, pal. But I guess you can speak with their landlord. Pass by the green windowed house in the second street over there," he pointed. "You can have fun tomorrow. That's it if those nut-heads don't close the island off looking for whoever murdered who knows."

With that, he left. I knew I had not time to wait for another day, to wait for someone to recognise me, to see through my pretence. With a knot in my stomach I searched the building signalled by the unpleasant man. There were several buildings that fit his vague description, but I entered the one were men gathered to drink away their miseries. I avoided falling in their practices. I needed to be sober and bright for tonight.

_He gave me a pointed look and I reassured him, "You will understand later."_

I had to wait long hours before an Asian man, short and with rat like crooked teeth, came in with an entourage of gorgeous women, delicate and well-mannered. It was nothing like the prostitutes I imagined. He did not say anything as he collected money, dispatching off his beauties. A Dutch man brushed by my side, money already at hand, when I grabbed his arm.

"I buy off your date," I offered in my best Dutch.

He frowned and chuckled. "What?" I pushed ten rix-dollars in his hand, the double of what he was about to pay. "I'm sorry. Not enough."

I pursued my lips and added another five, knowing well that he was conning me. "No more."

He smiled and left the house. Counting carefully my silver coins, I approached the Japanese man and gave him the price of a poor soul. He did not even looked at me, neither made sign, but a young girl that I assumed no older than me, stepped forward. I was likely more nervous than her.

I lead her up, to the room I had paid for the night. My hands trembled as I opened the door for her. I wondered how men could enjoy this, this defenceless girl that could not even communicate in our language. I wondered also how she could live by, her feelings and frustrations. I pulled out two cups and the bottle of liquor I had bought, not caring what kind it was. She sat down obediently and I took the place by her side on the floor. Automatically, as something as natural to her as breathing or blinking, she took the bottle from my hands and served us.

I studied her face, her calm expression, the odd make-up and hairdo. Every time I moved she smiled at me and it annoyed me; there was no reason for her to smile. Although I think what disturbed me most was the way the warmth of her gesture did not reach her big glassy eyes.

She leaned forward, trying to start a physical intimacy that scared me, and I just grabbed back the bottle instead and served her another cup. I raised mine and we toasted. Did she even understand the meaning of it? She downed her drink before her hand caressed my cheek. Did she find me attractive as a man? I just poured another drink and another, and another. In the middle of it, I could sense her discontent, but she knew better than to oppose me. She was here to please me, even if that meant drinking a whole bottle of rum by herself.

She passed out before realising that I had not drank a sip from my cup. Only then, I gave in to her expectations, and I undressed her. Her milky skin was spotless and I felt ashamed of what I was doing. But I knew I had no choice and no time to become concerned by demureness. I stripped myself of my clothes, and I hid as many of my possessions as I could under the complex kimono.

_"I tried my best to dress properly, but your clothing fashion is greatly complicated when unused to," I complained. _

_He only grunted in response. _

I used ink to imitate her make up. I had not expected courtesans to look like this, so I tried to rub off the white from her face to apply it to mine. I did not stop until I was satisfied that, unless in close inspection, my make-up was believable. Imitating her hair style proved quite a feat, but I figured after a night of love-making not everybody would look perfect. In the longest wait of my life, I waited until the Sun rise before to go down impersonating the girl locked in the top floor, the key to her room between the folds of my orange kimono.

The rat-like man from yesterday was there already and as I expected, he did barely look at me as I passed him by. He guided me and the other girls towards the street, where a row of kago waited for us. Keeping my head low, trying to hide my occidental features with strands of fallen hair, my hand to my mouth in what could be interpreted as shyness, I boarded one. Other two girls occupied the rest of the small space and our knees touched. I threw my head to the side, avoiding their eyes. To my relief, they looked disinterested in me. I wondered what horrors they had experienced in their dark fate as pleasure women.

The litter shook as strong arms delivered us to Nagasaki, to the "bawdy houses quarter". I followed the other girls inside, holding my breath at the audacity and stupidity of my acts. Yes, I was away from the Dutch authorities, but was that better than my current situation, in a courtesan house surrounded by people that would also execute me if the discovered my fraud? A woman tsk-ed behind my back, clearly dissatisfied by my appearance and with a hand in the down of my back, she pushed me away from the group and towards another room. I could not see her face, but by her voice as she rambled in Japanese, I assumed her to be old.

Once alone, she dragged me in front of a mirror, and tugged at the back of my obi to undress me. I struggled against her hands and she glared towards the mirror. I saw the discovery in her wide eyes; she had seen my true face. In a panic, I grabbed the mirror and slammed it forward, jumping just in time out of the way. It shattered in a rain of pieces over the elder. I did not bother to look if my frenzied escape had made yet another victim, but out of the corner of my eye I could see the crimson pool forming around. Certain that the noise had alerted the brothel of something amiss, I did not waste a beat as I opened the door opposite from where we had come in. It gave way to a long balcony that ran around the building and I saw with distress that we were on the top floor of a three-story building. People down the street did not seem to have noticed my appearance and I tried to act natural as I walked along the balcony, which was no more than the width of a corridor, away from the main street below me.

I saw my opportunity in the roof of another building not too far away, and I threw my legs over the banister, using my arms to slide down until my feet almost touched the tiles. At that time I saw men emerge to the balcony I had just left, and in panic, I threw myself down, to the street. My right ankle soared in pain.

_"For someone not sporty, you seem to take a habit of jumping out of buildings..." he teased. _

_"It is a period of my life I hope to not repeat," I answered. _

_He chuckled. _

I gathered the zori that had slipped away and searched for an escape route. Bad luck, I was in a dead-end street; the only way was forward, towards the main street where the entrance to the brothel was. I limped towards the exit of the street and peaked at the situation. Men rushed inside the building, hands ready to their weapon of choice, women and passer-by gathered also around, curious of the commotion. This chaotic state gave me the perfect cover to sneak out and, trying to hide my injury, walk as calmly as I could away from the pleasure district.

From there on, I chose to follow those streets less busy, clearly without a clue of my direction. Nagasaki is a big village, which in a sense played against me, for it is easy to get lost, but it also meant that you are less likely to catch people's attention in this pot of activity. My ankle hurt dearly, and I wanted nothing more than to stop and rest, but a strange energy surged in me that kept me going forward. I must also add that I was inept at walking with these Asian shoes.

At some point in my march, I noticed clothes hanging to dry in an empty street, and I stole them. They were man's clothes, less flashy than the orange kimono with dragons embroidered that I was wearing. Once I was sure no one followed me, I found a dark alley where to change. Back to my transvestism, I somehow felt safer.

I ended up leaving Nagasaki that day. It marked the beginning of a long period of wandering, homeless and lonely, that continues to this day on, but that hopefully, will end soon.


End file.
